


Castiel's Choice

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Brotherly Love, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Families of Choice, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Self-Sacrificing Castiel (Supernatural), Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 04:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Metatron escapes Heaven and takes the brothers hostage. His price for their safe return is the surrender of Castiel's Grace...and his wings. Sam and Dean are forced to watch Castiel endure the consequences of his surrender, only to discover that Metatron is not the only one with a plan...and Castiel has another choice to make.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1: The Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of Supernatural.

**Castiel's Choice**

**Chapter 1: The Sacrifice**

“Well, this sucks.” Dean Winchester pulled at his wrists with a scowl. “What the hell? These things don't even have proper locks on them.”

“Probably because Metatron knows all about us, including the fact that we can pick most locks.” Sam sighed. He'd been watching Dean tug at his manacles for the past hour, with absolutely no result. He sighed again, looking at his own bindings.

Manacles at wrist and ankle, secured by no discernible lock and tight enough that there was no chance that either of them could just slide free. Arms were chained in an outspread position, feet locked together to minimize balance. Extra chains were wound around their elbows, shoulders, chests, waists, and kneecaps. And there were spell wards added, to make the bonds even stronger. “Clearly, Metatron isn't taking any chances.”

“Yeah, and what is up with that anyway? I thought Cas put Metatron in jail. I thought he was stuck there.” Dean scowled and yanked at his left hand chain again. “How the hell did he manage to escape, find us, and kidnap us in the middle of the night? I mean, even if he could get out, I thought we were both angel warded with the rib-cage thing and all.”

“You were. But Castiel was the one who spelled you, and he was mortal for a while. Besides, both of you have crossed through...heaven, hell, purgatory...just about everywhere really. And you have the Mark of Cain. It has an effect.” Metatron stepped into the room. “When you throw in your housing at that old warehouse Gadreel told me of and your predilection for monster hunting, well, you weren't that hard to find.” He smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. We're predictable. Bite me.” Dean scowled. “How the hell did you get out of lock-up anyway?”

Metatron shrugged. “I have my ways. There are angels who feel a despot is better than no leader at all. They would have taken Castiel, but given that he's refused the post...they were more than happy to give me a second chance.”

“Okay, fine. You're out and you're aiming to rule heaven. What do you want with us? We're not part of heavenly politics.” Sam tried to keep his voice reasonable, but there was a bite of impatience to it. “You haven't killed us yet, and you're making sure we can't leave. So you want something.”

“Yes I do.” Metatron smiled, a thin, cold smile. “I want insurance.”

“Insurance? What the hell does that mean?” Dean's scowl deepened. “If you're trying to make sure we don't try to kill you, this is a damn poor way to go about it. Cause right now I can think of very few things I'd like more than to take you apart.”

Metatron's smile became a sneer. “You would, wouldn't you? But no. It's not _you_ I want insurance from. There's another party in the game. I've sent the ransom message, so he should be here soon.”

“Not soon. Now.” The low voice behind Metatron startled everyone.

Castiel stood in the doorway. The dark hair was as untidy as ever, but he looked well. The trench-coat was clean (it was always one of the first casualties when Castiel was failing in health), and his body was whole and unmarked by wounds. His white shirt and dark suit were clean. The usual five-o-clock shadow darkened his chin and cheeks, but no worse than was normal for him. Dark blue eyes raked over both brothers. “Are you hurt?”

Dean growled. “Pissed off, tied up, and I'm getting some major-ass cramps in my shoulders and calves. Other than that, no. I'm good.”

Castiel's gaze moved. “Sam?”

“The same. Not hurt, just a little sore from being kidnapped and chained to a pillar.” Sam shifted his weight. “Wouldn't mind being loose though.”

“All right.” The dark, brooding gaze shifted again, this time to Metatron. “I'm here. Now let them go.”

“Not so fast.” Metatron shook his head. “I have conditions for their release.”

“Fine. What?” Castiel shifted. Sam and Dean both tensed.

Metatron smiled, a sharp, ugly smile. “It's simple. I'll release the brothers. I'll even guarantee their safety, from the heavenly host at least. And possibly from the demons as well. All you have to do is give me what I want.”

“And that would be?” Castiel's voice was low, grating, and one hand flexed in warning. He was on the verge of drawing a sword, and there were storms of power and anger in his eyes.

“Heaven. A second chance to impose order. And you out of the way this time. You're too dangerous and unpredictable. You're too powerful. Castiel, the angel who returned from Death. The angel who can rally humans and demons to his side, as well as the heavenly host.” Metatron's smile twisted into a snarl. “I stripped you of your Grace, made you human and sent you to Earth, and you still revived. Raphael and Lucifer both destroyed you, and yet you keep coming back. I framed you, and you disproved it. I jailed you, and you escaped. I want to make sure you are out of this game. For good.”

“If you want me to swear I'll remain neutral, fine. If you want me to die...it's not like it isn't happening anyway.” Castiel's eyes glittered with a flash of bleak humor. “A little sooner, a little later...I'm not afraid of death.”

“I know. And I'd love to take you up on that.” Metatron flicked his wrist, and a shining silver blade slid into his hand. Everyone else tensed. Then he dropped it to clang against the floor. “The problem is, that's already been tried. You've been killed. And you just keep coming back, stronger and better than ever. If I killed you, for all I know, I'd have an archangel on my hands when I turned around. Or a fledgling god. No, killing you won't do.”

“Then what is it that you want? I'm at a loss.” Castiel watched, remaining in his place as Metatron began to pace the floor.

Metatron watched him a moment, then hissed out, “I want your Grace. That force that's keeping you alive and empowered. And I want assurance, proof that you won't go and find more when my back is turned.” He moved, short, sharp strides to Castiel's side, and whispered into his ear.

Castiel flinched. Actually flinched, and trembled as though he had been struck. His face paled.

Sam jerked himself upright, pulling against his chains. “Cas, what's wrong? What did he ask you to do?”

Castiel didn't answer. His face was nearly white, his body rigid.

Dean swallowed hard. He'd seen Castiel hurt, tortured, driven mad, and nearly every other state of poor health he could imagine, and he'd never seen Castiel look like this. Never seen him stand so still, his hands trembling, clenched into white-knuckled fists. “Cas?”

Castiel didn't answer him either. Instead, he turned to face Metatron, eyes burning almost feverishly. “If I do this...you swear...no one touches them. Not even to get to me.” His eyes went to the brothers a moment, then back to Metatron. “Sam and Dean Winchester are off limits to everyone.”

“Naturally. You have my word.”

Dean snorted. “Like that's worth much.”

Metatron shot him a contemptuous glance. “I swear it on my Grace. I'll even swear it in a demon deal, if you want. You can arrange that, can't you Castiel?”

“I can. Probably. But I doubt I need to. You'll need every ounce of goodwill you can find, and being proven an oath-breaker again won't help your cause.” Castiel's voice grated and cracked.

“True.” Metatron smiled, a shark's smile. “Well Castiel? Do we have a trade or not?”

“Cas, no. Whatever he's asking you...don't do it.” Dean yanked at his chains. “It's not worth it. Not for us.”

Castiel met his eyes. “Would you agree if that bargain was for Sam's safety, without yours in consideration?” Dean grimaced, and a small smile curved one corner of Castiel's mouth and disappeared. “I thought not. Besides...to me...it is worth it.” He turned back. “I agree to your terms.”

“Cas...” Sam froze as Metatron gestured.

Chains like the ones binding both of them appeared and snapped around Castiel's wrists, dragging his arms into a spread-eagled position. Another set of shackles bolted his feet to the floor, pinning him helplessly in place. Castiel hissed once as his arms were wrenched apart, but made no other sound. His eyes remained fastened on Metatron.

Dean snarled. “You son of a bitch, what are you going to do to him?”

Metatron leaned down and picked up the silver sword, then gave Dean a cold, cruel smile. “Do you know, what separates an angel from a human? From a man, just another crawling bug on the face of the Earth? It isn't just the Grace you know.” He gestured.

Light gathered and flared. Castiel made a low, soft sound that could have been rage, could have been despair, or something else all together. Then the light faded and both Winchesters stared.

Huge, wide wings, each six feet across at least, curled against Castiel's shoulders. Dean shivered. He'd seen the shadow of Castiel's wings on their first meeting, and glimpses once or twice since then, but Castiel usually kept them hidden.

Metatron stroked one wing and Castiel shuddered, head snapping back in pain or revulsion or both. Metatron smiled. “It's the wings, you know. Mark of an angel's celestial status. Reservoir of the power they carry. The key that binds them to Heaven.” He stroked the feathers again, enjoying how Castiel winced. “Even if an angel loses their Grace, they still have these. That's how they can reunite with their power. How a fallen angel like Anna, or Castiel himself, can still retain some of their powers, their awareness. But if you take an angel's wings as well as his Grace...well then. Things change.”

Metatron circled Castiel slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Angels who forgot to protect their wings in the Fall...those were the ones who died. They lost their celestial status when their wings burned and shredded from their backs, and then they were mortal when they hit the ground.”

Sam straightened. “You're going to take Castiel's wings.” He swallowed hard.

“And his Grace. Just to be sure.” Metatron smiled again. “I thought about just burning them from your back, Castiel, but that can't be done without Holy Fire. At least, not here. And Holy Fire would kill you, which I am trying to avoid. So....we need a different method.” He tapped the sword against his palm. “I thought I'd try amputation instead.”

Castiel twisted in his bonds to face the Metatron. “Fine. Do it.”

“Castiel, no. Don't let him do this to you.” Dean wrenched at the chains. “You son of a bitch, if you touch him...”

“You're in no position to do anything about it.” Metatron smirked. “Neither of you can do anything. Besides...this is Castiel's choice.” He slid the flat of the blade across Castiel's cheek. “We should get started. Any last requests, Castiel?”

“Keep your word.” Castiel was ash-pale, but his expression was unyielding.

“Of course. Anything else?” Metatron looked calm, but there was triumph in his eyes.

Castiel swallowed hard but lifted his chin, straightening in his chains. “Make it quick.”

Metatron smiled coldly. “It won't be. But you already knew that. However...I can make it a little easier, I suppose.” He slid the blade across Castiel's throat.

Blood welled, and the white, pearly light of the Grace. Metatron trapped it in a vial as Castiel choked, pain crossing his features. When the last light was trapped, he snapped the vial closed and laid two fingers across Castiel's throat, sealing the gash. Castiel flinched, and Metatron caught his chin. “I did say I didn't want you to die. A slit throat would kill a mortal.” He lifted his blade. “On to the next part.” he stepped around under Castiel's outstretched arm, laid one hand on the back of his shoulder, and brought the silver sword slashing down.

Light flared, light and blood. Castiel gasped, a half-scream of pain, choked by his own agony. The sword slashed again and Castiel convulsed, writhing against Metatron's grip.

“Castiel!” Dean roared the angel's name, straining against his chains so hard they cut into his wrists, leaving blood trickling down his arm. Sam twisted his hands frantically, fighting to find some leverage, some way to slip his bonds. There was nothing. He pulled so hard he felt like he was dislocating his thumb, but it wasn't enough.

The sword flashed a third time. Castiel cried out again. Then the sword sliced downwards a fourth time, and the wing attached to his right shoulder fell and exploded into nothingness against the ground. Castiel howled in agony, his torment written clearly across his face. The sleeves of his shirt and trench-coat were crimson with the blood from his wrists, and blood dripped from his back to the ground. Then Castiel's head dropped forward, breath coming in harsh pants as he slumped in his bonds. Breathless, harsh words slipped from his mouth. “Finish it.”

“Castiel, please, don't do this...” Sam's words froze as Metatron stepped around to Castiel's other side. The silver sword rose and fell once more and Castiel's head snapped back, renewed suffering slashing across his face as another scream was torn from him.

Dean turned his face away as Metatron lifted the sword once more. His face was white, and he was shaking. Sam bit his lip, hands clenching into fists as he watched Metatron hack away at Castiel's back. Watched Castiel writhe and tremble and scream.

The second wing fell and burned to nothingness, leaving it's charred outline on the ground. Castiel slumped forward once more. Light gathered around his tortured form, compressed, then dissipated, and something went out of his face. Celestial light. Gone from him in a way it had never been gone from him before, even when he'd been human on previous occasions.

Metatron calmly wiped Castiel's blood from his sword. “Well, that's done then.” He clicked his fingers, and the chains holding Castiel upright vanished. Castiel fell in a heap against the floor. He moaned, but didn't move.

Metatron looked at him a moment, then raised his gaze to the two brothers. “And now for you two.”

“You swore to Cas...”

“And I intend to keep my word. After all, he's right. A broken oath would look bad for me right now. The situation being what it is. So.” Metatron moved forward. He seized Deans right hand and traced a quick mark on it. Dean hissed as the mark burned into his skin. Then he moved to Sam and repeated the process. “There. I've healed your wounds and left a mark that indicates you are under protection, not to be harmed. You can duplicate the mark for him later...if he recovers.” He gave Castiel a contemptuous look.

“What do you mean, if he recovers?” Sam swallowed hard.

Metatron gave him a wintry smile. “The hard part's just beginning. You see, an angel's wings are protection of a sort. When an angel takes a human host, or a human form, the wings...act as a buffer. Celestial energy, the memories of what being an angel is...the wings help. I couldn't explain exactly how, of course, but they help. They're sort of a conductor and a filter.”

He turned, nudged Castiel's prone form with his boot. Dean snarled wordlessly.

“All that Castiel was, all that he is, all that he has seen and experienced, is trapped within him. Within the confines of a mortal mind, a mortal soul. Given his resume...” A sneer touched Metatron's face. “He might not survive it. The assimilation may kill him. But I can guarantee, it won't be pleasant for him.”

He turned. “Your chains will vanish once I'm safely away.” he smirked. “Do take care of Castiel. He's handed me Heaven twice now. I'd hate for him to get nothing out of it.”

“You soulless son of a bitch...” Dean snarled the words. “I swear, I will find a way to kill you...”

“Don't make promises you can't keep.” Metatron smiled. “And just in case you were hoping otherwise...what I've done to Castiel isn't something a demon or even another angel can fix. I made sure of that.” Then he vanished, teleporting away.

Dean growled again and wrenched at the chains, then staggered as they vanished. Sam stumbled as well, caught himself, then fell to his knees at Castiel's side. Dean knelt on the angel's other side. “Well?”

Castiel's wrists were torn. His back was raw and bloody, trench-coat torn open to reveal where the wings had been ripped from his back. His face was pale. Sam held one hand in front of his mouth. “He's breathing. But it's shallow. He's probably going into shock.”

“Yeah. Not exactly a surprise, considering he just got his Grace ripped out of his body and his wings fucking amputated.” Dean cursed again. “What the hell do we do with him?”

Sam swallowed. “We could take him back to the Bunker. Tend his wounds.”

“Yeah. And what about the rest of it.” Dean's fists clenched, and his eyes were burning with rage and grief. “Sam, you know what he's been through. Heaven, Hell...he's been killed and resurrected how many times? He was trapped in Purgatory, brainwashed, tortured. He had the Leviathans inside him, eating him from the inside out. He took your hell memories and your insanity for you. And all that's trapped in there, in his head, where his mojo can't save him any more.”

“I know. We'll just have to do the best we can.” Sam bit his lip. “Come on. We need to get him back.” He reached out and took one of Castiel's arms. Dean stood still a moment, then reached out and took the other.

Together they lifted the unconscious former angel from the ground. Castiel moaned as Sam drew one arm over his shoulders, but he didn't open his eyes. He sagged in their arms, dead weight. Sam looked over the angel's shoulders and into Dean's eyes, seeing the memory there of the first time they had held Castiel like this. When he had sacrificed his strength to take them into the past and prevent the angels from killing their parents. They had found him collapsed next to a car, coughing up blood. And it was one of the less traumatic things Castiel had endured with them.

They stood a moment, sharing their sorrow, then turned. Sam let Dean take the lead as they navigated Castiel's limp form to the door and through it.

The door proved to lead to another room an abandoned office from the look of it. Sun was shining through the windows. Dean led as they crossed the room, careful not to jostle their injured companion, and made their way outside.

The Impala was sitting in the parking lot. The keys were visible on the dash, along with a map. Dean let Sam take Castiel's weight while he reached in and snagged both. He looked at the map, then swore in a broken voice. “Castiel...you stupid, stupid, self-sacrificing son of a bitch...” His voice died away.

“What is it?” Sam shifted.

Dean held up the map. A town in the middle of Montana was circled, and next to it was written 'you are here' in Castiel's spiky old-fashioned script. Sam swallowed hard on a knot of anguish in his throat as the implications turned over in his mind.

Castiel had brought them the Impala, at who knew what cost to himself. And he had noted their location, so they could get home easily. He had known, or at least suspected, that he would be unable to help them. That he would be incapacitated or dead. He had known. Small wonder he had been so easy for Metatron to convince. He had come willingly in the first place, not for a fight, but for a sacrifice.

Dean cursed again, then wrenched the back door open. “Come on, lets get him in and take him home. Shouldn't take more than a few hours, if we push it.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” He carried Castiel over, guided the limp body into the car, laying Castiel so that he was facing the seat, his back turned to the front to avoid aggravating his wounds.

Dean opened the trunk and pulled out the first-aid kit they kept with them. “Can you handle it, or you need help?”

Sam shook his head. “I've got it, I think. But these are pretty deep. He'll probably scar.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah. If he survives.” He scratched his head. “Damn, I wish Bobby were here. Or even Garth.”

“Yeah, well, we usually wish that at least once a hunt. But they're not, so we'll just have to do the best we can.” Sam bent forward. “Think I should try to get him out of these clothes, or just cut them off him?”

“Might as well cut 'em. They're ruined anyway, and if Metatron's right, he's not gonna be fixing them. And if Metatron's wrong...he can put pieces together just as well as mend tears.” Dean shuffled, then flopped into the driver's seat, out of Sam's way, though he turned around to watch.

Sam ripped the cloth down Castiel's back, then used a knife to cut the seams and gently strip the wounded angel. Castiel groaned, but remained unconscious as Sam put ointment and anti-septic on the gaping wounds of his back and the slighter ones of his wrists, then bound his wrists with bandages, packed his back with medicated gauze and bandaged Castiel from shoulders to the base of his ribcage. Dean watched him finish, then fished under the seat until he found one of their worn blankets and passed it over. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Sam wrapped Castiel in the blanket, then buckled the limp body into the seat and backed out into the morning sunlight. He checked to make sure Castiel's legs were out of the way, then shut the door, walked around to the passenger side and dropped into his usual seat. “Let's go.”

“Way ahead of you.” Dean fired up the car and took off, pointing the Impala towards Kansas.

They stopped to fill the car with gas and get food an hour out. Dean filled the tank at a convenience store/fast food restaurant, while Sam went inside and bought basic supplies. Water, soda, beer, snacks, and lunch. He came back out with six bags, and Dean stared at him. “You know we'll have to stop again, and you and I can't eat all that between now and then.”

“I know. But I bought some stuff Cas might like.” Sam held up a sandwich bag. “We know he likes hamburgers.”

“Yeah. That's true.” Cas had said his human side liked red meat, so it was a valid point. He clicked the handle on the pump, snagged the receipt, and hopped back in. “Let's go then. We got a hurt angel to take home.”

“Yeah. Right there with you.”

They ate in silence. The quiet from the backseat was unnerving. Castiel was rarely so silent in their presence. The last time had been when he'd been drained of Grace, right before they'd slam dunked Lucifer and Michael into the Cage. Usually he was full of observations, questions, ideas. There was just something wrong about the silent form, limp underneath the blanket, that both brothers knew no loud music or talking could fix.

They'd been driving for three hours when an unexpected voice broke the silence. “Stop the car.”

Dean swore, jerked on the steering wheel, then guided the car to the side of the road and slammed on the flashers. He jerked the parking brake on, then whipped his head around. “Cas. You're awake.”

“And wishing I weren't.” Cas looked sick. “I think I'm ill...”

Sam shot out of his seat and around to open Castiel's door, then caught the angel's shoulders as he retched twice into the gravel, coughing up bloody liquid. Cas coughed, then leaned into Sam's shoulder a moment before he spoke. “Help me sit up.”

Sam guided Castiel into a sitting position, then crouched by the open door. Castiel leaned his shoulder against the seat, wincing as he breathed. “Where are we? And why am I in this condition?”

“We had to bandage your wounds. And we're headed back to the Bunker. Been driving about four hours.” Dean turned a little further around. “Can we get you anything? We've got snacks, beer, water, cheeseburgers....”

“Water.” Castiel groaned. He took the bottle Dean cracked open and handed to him, sipping at it. Sam leaned back out of the way as he spit more blood into the gravel. He sipped some more. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Dean watched as the angel drank half the bottle and capped it. “Anything else?”

Castiel winced. “Some...money...for the hotel fare...would be appreciated.”

“Hotel fare? I just told you that we were headed back to the Bunker.” Dean's hand clenched on the seat. “It shouldn't take us that long.”

“I meant for wherever you decide to leave me.” Castiel's voice was low and rough.

“Why would we leave you anywhere?” Sam sounded surprised.

“Why wouldn't you? I am...no longer of any help to you...and what comes next...isn't pretty.” Castiel's breathing was labored. His head was leaning against the seat, as if he was too tired to hold it up. Too tired even to stop the blanket from slipping down his bandaged shoulders.

“We know. Metatron told us. Still don't see what your point is.” Dean turned as far around as he could get in the seat.

Castiel sighed. “I don't...wing-taking hasn't been in practice since...it's been millennia. Only Metatron would remember what it's after-effects are truly like. It's considered...barbaric. Worse than barbaric. Practically demonic.” The blue eyes closed. “I've never witnessed it. But I've heard stories. Whispers. None of them good.”

He paused, then kept speaking, his voice almost a dead monotone. “If rumors are true...I will relive my past from a human perspective. The emotions I was distant from, as an angel, that you once claimed I could not feel...the sensations that my Grace and my status as an angel, even a weakened one, shielded me from, like dying, and...other things...I will feel them. Remember them. I don't know how vividly, or how strongly, or how the situation will progress. Only that it will.”

He stopped, and seemed to be curling into himself. Sam reached out and gently raised the blanket to cover him once more. Castiel shuddered at the contact.

Dean spoke softly. “Still not seeing the issue here.”

Castiel's teeth clenched. “It will be...difficult. For me. Possibly for any that remain with me. How difficult I cannot say but...most certainly traumatic. Can you imagine what an angel's nightmares would be like? Particularly mine? After what I have seen and done?”

“Yeah. I can imagine.” Dean watched as Castiel curled into the Impala's back seat. “So, you're saying that you're about to go through a horrible, traumatic, nasty experience, and you think we should just leave you somewhere to deal with it on your own?”

“It's already started. And yes. Exactly.”

Dean and Sam shared a look. Then Dean snorted. “You know, you've said some crazy things since I met you, but even for you, that is a whole new level of stupid.”

Castiel's head snapped up, blue eyes wide open as he stared at Dean. “What?”

“You heard me. And you understood what I meant. If you think Sam and I are going to abandon you while you go through this, you're an idiot.”

Castiel swallowed. “The last time...”

Sam snorted. “The last time I didn't really get a vote, because I was locked in my head in a near death coma. And Dean had a pissed off, paranoid and traitorous angel telling him that if he didn't ditch you, he'd kill me. Or at least let me die. This is definitely not the same thing.” Sam shifted, steadied himself on the door-frame. “Dean and I don't intend to make that mistake a second time.”

“Yeah. What he said.” Dean flashed Castiel a small smile.

“You don't understand.” Castiel's hands clenched around the edges of the blanket. “When I say difficult...” He stopped, eyes closing, an expression on his face that Dean wished he'd never learned to interpret. Shame. “I mean...humiliating. Traumatic. Ugly. Quite possibly degrading. The memories, and my reactions to them. Even more so because eventually, the two of you will be part of them. I'm sure you understand.”

Memories of Castiel's tortured body, of leaving him in Purgatory, flashed in Dean's mind. He saw a similar sorrow in Sam's eyes. “Yeah. We get it.”

“Then you understand why you would not wish to see this. And why I might not wish you to see this.” Castiel's teeth clenched again.

Dean watched Castiel, curled on the seat, hugging the blanket around him for warmth. He did understand. But he understood other things as well. He met Sam's eyes again, silent question in them. Sam nodded behind Castiel's bowed back, shifting his position slightly so that if the angel tried to exit the car, he'd have to ram into and through Sam to do it.

Castiel seemed frozen, waiting for their response. Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. I understand. So does Sam. But...there's something we think _you_ don't understand.”

Castiel's voice was cracked ice when he responded. “And what is that?”

“You've been with us for years. Years, man. Through thick and thin. Hell, you've been in our corner at times when literally no one else was. If it weren't for you, God knows where we'd be by now. Probably a lot worse off.” Dean reached down and grabbed two sodas, wishing he weren't driving and could grab for the beer. “My point is, you've been with us through a lot. We've seen some heavy shit for you, you've covered for us in some nasty situations. At this point, I think you're practically family. Pretty damn weird family at times, but family. And family sticks together. Even through the nasty stuff.” He broke the cap off of his drink and swallowed. So did Sam.

Castiel flinched at the sound. “I am not...”

“You are. You're outvoted two to one on this Cas. You've been adopted as an honorary Winchester.” He smirked at the angel over his bottle.

Castiel shuddered. “You do not understand. When I say...you cannot...the things I may say...the things I may do...the things you may hear of me...you don't know everything I've done.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, well, we've seen you die for us a few times, molotov an archangel or two, go to Purgatory, take on torture and mind blowing insanity for us, including having Lucifer torment you in your dreams, kill for us and a whole bunch of other things.”

Dean nodded. “Plus we've seen you go 'Angel Commander' on us, go practically homicidal on us, go practically whacked-out God complex on us, and go absolute pacifist wacko on us. And everything in between.” He took another gulp of his soda. “Sam and I think we can handle the hairy stuff.” He shrugged. “We may not have always agreed or been on the same team, but hey, the same can be said of me and Sammy too. And we're still together through hell or high water.”

Castiel sat for a long moment, still and silent in the seat. When he spoke at last, his voice was ragged. “I should be...furious...with your refusal to leave me.”

Dean shrugged again. “Are you?”

“No.” Castiel curled a little deeper into the seats. “I think...I am relieved.” He raised his head to look into Dean's eyes.

“That's good...” Blue and red lights flashed behind them. Dean grimaced. “Great.” He sighed. “Make yourself comfortable. Sammy...”

“On it.” He heard his brother scuffing the dirt and unbuckled to pull himself from the car.

The officer stopped his approach as Dean emerged. Dean raised his hands in the air. “Officer. Nice day.”

The officer nodded. “Got word of a black Impala off the road.” He glanced at the car's tires, and the front end. “Mind telling me what the problem is?”

Dean made a face and shrugged. “Friend of ours. Injured in a bad fall. Concussion, you know how nasty those things can get. He said he was about to throw up, so we pulled over so he wouldn't puke in the car. Got a bit of a road trip still ahead of us.”

The officer nodded again and edged towards the passenger side. Sam held up his hands with a sheepish grin. Dean watched as the officer's eyes took in the scuffed gravel, and Castiel sitting huddled in the back seat. The officer moved a few paces forward, and Sam obligingly backed up. “Sir, you all right?”

Castiel tilted his head back. “No. I feel sick, and my head hurts, and my back hurts, and my wrists hurt, and my mouth feels foul and tastes disgusting.”

“You want to go to the hospital?” Dean winced at the friendly concern in the cop's voice.

“No. I want to go home with my brothers. Preferably before I start having nightmares and throwing up again.” Sam grimaced at Castiel's blunt honesty.

The cop looked up. “I thought he was your friend?”

“He is. But he's a close friend. We kinda talk sometimes, about how he's an honorary member of the family.” Dean smiled.

The cop nodded. “Nightmares?”

Sam spoke up. “The doctor said he might have them. He's...kind of suffering from...PTSD. All the bad stuff that's been going on around the country the past few years...his family got caught in some of it. He lost a lot of them.” The cop grimaced in sympathy. “We were hoping to get him to relax, but the accident...The doctor said to be careful, that it might trigger some...memories or something. That's why we wanted to get him home, even though he's not in good shape to travel. We thought he might be more comfortable there.”

The cop backed up. “I see. Well then, are you able to get back on the road?”

Dean moved over to his door. “Cas? You up for hitting the road again?”

“Yes. The sooner the better.”

“Okay. I'll let you boys be on your way then.” The officer backed up and shut Cas's door. The angel winced at the noise. “You take good care of your friend.”

Sam nodded. “We will.” Both brothers watched as the officer went back to the patrol car, then got back into the Impala. Castiel was sitting leaning against the seat, blanket clutched in one hand, water held loosely in the other. Dean made sure he and Sam were buckled, then turned the ignition switch and brought the car roaring to life.

Two minutes later, they were on the road again, roaring along at almost 70, and the police car was nowhere in sight. Dean chanced a look at Castiel. The angel's eyes were closed, head lolling against the upholstery. “Cas, you out?”

“No.” One short, terse word.

“Okay.” Dean swallowed. He didn't want to ask the next question. “How long before this...thing...starts getting rough for you?”

“It won't get bad for a while.” Castiel's voice was rough. “Aside from Lucifer's fall, my first years as an angel were...fairly quiet. Minor battles, and a great deal of watching.” He paused, and Dean heard him take a sip of water. “It didn't start getting bad...until just before Anna's fall. Around the time Azazael began his campaign to free Lucifer.”

“About ten, twenty years before we were born.” Dean nodded. “Gotcha.” He found a soothing cassette, one he didn't listen to very often, and slid it into his tape deck. “In that case, get what rest you can. Take a nap or whatever it is you do. Sam and I'll wake you when we get back to the Bunker.”

“All right.” There was a whisper of a bottle cap sliding on or off the bottle, and a rustle of cloth. “I...thank you. Both of you.”

Dean grinned. “No problem. Go to sleep.” There was no reply from the backseat, and when he looked in the mirror, Castiel was slumped against the seat.


	2. Chapter 2: The Price

They drove into the Bunker just before dawn the following morning. They'd switched drivers twice, filled up on gas once more, and pit stops, and both taken turns dozing in the passenger seat. Castiel hadn't woken up again, or even moved all that much. Only the occasional mutter or groan let them know he was still alive. Sam gathered up the gear they were going to take inside. Dean leaned into the car and shook Castiel's shoulder gently. “Cas. Wake up.”

Castiel jerked awake, blinked, then focused on him. “Dean.”

“Yeah. We're here. Come on, out of the car and inside.” Dean unbuckled Castiel's seat-belt and pulled him into a standing position, braced against his shoulder.

Castiel staggered, leaning heavily on him. “You know, I never realized how awful human wars could get. It's bad among angels and demons, but humans...tanks and grenades and the diseases and the smell…how do you stand it?” He sounded drunk, like he had after they'd told him God was staying out of the loop on purpose and he'd 'gone on a bender'.

Dean shrugged, keeping his tone light and calm. If Castiel was dreaming of tanks and grenades, the worst of it would start soon. “Just stupid, I guess. And you get a little...numb, after a while. Can you eat something?”

“God no.” Castiel staggered again. “Not a chance. I'd never...keep it down.” he swayed. “Just water.”

“Good enough. Come on, let's get you into bed.” Dean pulled Castiel into the Bunker.

Sam reappeared. “I cleaned out my room. I can find another place to sleep in a while.”

“Right.” Dean guided the swaying, barely conscious angel into the moderate room Sam had chosen for his own and lowered Castiel into the wide Queen-sized bed. Castiel fell onto it limply, face-down. Dean swung his legs onto the bed and pulled off his shoes to make him more comfortable. “Should we change his bandages?”

“I don't know. Normally, I'd say yes. But...this isn't normal.” Sam sighed. “How far along in his memories is he, did he say?”

“Tanks. And wars.”

“Crap. Dad was a veteran.” Sam hissed in exasperation.

“Yeah. Exactly. I don't think he's got that far yet, but...” A loud groan interrupted him. Both brothers turned.

On the bed, Castiel shuddered, his face contorting in pain. “No...”

“Dammit. That answers that.” Dean and Sam moved to Castiel's side. Dean laid a cautious hand on Castiel's shoulder.

Blue eyes opened, hazy with pain and weariness. Then Castiel bent his head to Dean's hand. “Should have...stopped him. Should have...” He sounded like he was praying, or begging for forgiveness.

The brothers exchanged a quick look. Then Dean spoke, his voice low and calm. “Stopped who?”

“Azazael. Murdered nuns...guardians of the gateway. Guardians of the cage. First crack in the door.” Castiel clutched at Deans arm, and his eyes were dark with anguish. “Could have stopped it. Orders...wasn't...strong enough...smart enough. Blind faith...” His head fell to the mattress. “I...we...could have...stopped it.”

Sam stiffened. He and Dean traded a second startled look.

They'd never realized the angels had known about Azazael's plans. Not as long ago as that. If the angels had stopped him then…

Sam and Dean would never have been born.

Their mother and father would never have died.

The Apocalypse would never have happened. Millions of lives would have been spared. Angel, human, demon...millions.

They'd known for a while that Heaven had engineered their parents marriage. But they'd always thought it had been a panicked response to what Azazael had done. Azazael had been breeding and selecting children to become the key to Hell and Lucifer's vessel. They'd assumed the angels had arranged for Dean's birth as a counter measure, as Micheal's vessel, and that Azazael had claimed Sam as a twisted joke. Or as part of the whole 'destiny' schtick. The 'brother fighting brother' thing.

This was different. The angels had stood by and let Azazael get instructions to plan Armageddon.

Sam broke the heavy silence. “Well, he said we might not want to hear this.”

“Yeah.” Both of them relaxed. Dean watched as Castiel's face twisted in grief again. “Do you blame him? Are you angry at him?”

Sam frowned, then shook his head. “I...I kind of want to be. But it wasn't his fault. He was doing what he was ordered to do. He didn't know any better. He thought it was God allowing this to happen. I know the feeling, that feeling that you have to do what you're doing, no matter how wrong it seems. I've listened to that song.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Me too.” he shook his head. “I think we'd better lay in some supplies and prepare to camp out here, Sammy boy. Looks like this is where things get bad.”

Sam nodded. “I'll get the food. You get the beds?”

“Meet you back here in fifteen.” Dean nodded and they both left the room.

Half an hour later, both brothers were ensconced in blanket and pillow nests, cooler and food containers between them, watching as Castiel moaned on the bed, one word more intelligible than the rest. Anna. He was reliving his former commander and friend's Fall.

They'd known Anna and Castiel knew each other.

They hadn't known how deeply Castiel had looked up to his superior, or how he'd loved her like a sister, a dear friend and comrade in arms.

They hadn't known that Anna had gone to Castiel when she began to have doubts about the purity of Heaven and it's policies. Or that Castiel's innocent search for answers (he was so shockingly naive at times) had been what had led to her being denounced and choosing to Fall.

Castiel's broken apology was heart-wrenching. Hearing him, it was no surprise that Uriel had taken the lead on the whole 'hunt for Anna' incident. Dean swallowed hard, listening as Castiel's words stumbled between betrayed hurt and guilty anguish. Castiel had apologized to him like that, once or twice. He shook his head. “He's just so...damn sincere.”

Sam blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Cas. When he apologizes. You know, me and you...there are times when we apologize, but it's just...well, we mean it, but we don't, you know? Like 'sorry I pissed you off, not sorry I did what I did and I'd do it all again' kind of thing.” Dean gestured to the bed. “Not Cas. When he apologizes...he really _means_ it, you know? Like, everything. Not just for hurting someone, but for what he did. He means it more than we do, somehow.”

“There's been times when we've meant it. I did after the whole demon-blood thing.” Sam's voice was quiet.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I've meant it too. But Cas...he means it all the friggin damn time.” Dean swallowed a mouthful of beer.

“Yeah. He does.” A small smile cracked Sam's face. “I remember when I was planning to say yes to Lucifer, and we were all saying our goodbyes. I told him to take care of you. He tried to...I don't know, be upbeat, the way we are a lot of the time when we're trying to put a good face on a bad situation. It was the most awkward thing I've ever seen. And he's a horrible liar.”

“He is at that.” Dean smiled back and finished the beer.

Sam's gaze shifted back to Castiel, and the smile vanished like smoke in the wind. “Dean.”

Dean turned.

Castiel lay quiet, his face...Dean watched in shock as tears tracked over Castiel's face. Silent tears, and heart-breaking on a face that had never before known them, not in all the time he'd been with the Winchesters. They'd seen Jimmy Novak weep for his wife and daughter, once upon a time when Castiel had been banished from his mortal host. But not Castiel, not even with all the horror they had faced together.

Dean set down his empty bottle and got to his feet, then moved to the bedside, Sam only a step behind him. He reached out, then paused. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why Castiel was crying.

He couldn't let his friend suffer in silence. He reached out and touched Castiel's shoulder. “Cas.”

Blue eyes, filled with grief and pain, looked up at him. Castiel spoke, his voice hoarse. “I'm sorry I burned you. When I raised you from Hell.” One hand reached up, to brush Dean's shoulder, where the welted marks of burned in hand-prints had once been.

“No big deal. I mean, compared to staying, a little burn is nothing.” Dean forced a smile.

“I know. I saw what Hell was like when we came for you.” Castiel's head fell back. “I'm sorry I threatened to send you back.”

Dean shrugged. “You were pissed off. And your people skills totally sucked. All you angels need to take a course in Courtesy 101 before you hit Earth.” He tried for another grin. “You're doing a lot better now.”

“Sometimes I don't think so.” Castiel's head fell back. “I followed Zachariah and Raphael so blindly...even after Uriel told me Heaven was corrupt, and so many angels believed God was dead. Still...I followed....” He exhaled. “We made you torture Alistair. You warned me not to ask you that, but I forced it anyway.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged. “You made up for it, in the end.” He swallowed hard. He didn't want to see Castiel tormenting himself over things they had hashed out between them years ago, forgiven and forgotten in their long, tangled relationship. “It's all good.”

“It isn't.” Castiel shook his head. “It's...horrible. It was horrible as an angel. But this...”

“Still no need to cry and turn into a big puddle over it.” Dean squeezed Castiel's shoulder.

“I'm not.” Castiel turned his face away.

Sam reached out and brushed the tear-streaked countenance. He'd always been better at gestures like that, though Dean had softened some during his year with Lisa and Ben, and during the Trials. “Then why?” His voice was soft, inviting the confidence where Dean's might have sounded like he was trying to hammer it out.

Castiel's breath hitched, and the pain in his face was nearly as bad as when Metatron had ripped away his wings. “You have...no idea...what it's like to Fall.”

“Nope. None at all.” Dean held Castiel's shoulder. “Wanna talk?”

“To be cut off from the light of Heaven, from everything you know. To know that everyone, every person you called brother or companion or friend, will be hunting you down, trying to kill you. To turn against everything you are, everything you've followed for thousands of years...and to not even know if it will be worth it in the end. To choose to Fall...is excruciating. To make that choice, and then fail in everything you were trying to protect, trying to prevent...you have no idea.” Castiel's voice cracked, and new tears streaked his face before he reached up a trembling hand and swiped them angrily away. “You can't comprehend...”

“No. We can't. We're only human. But I've failed to protect what I loved. And so has Sam. And if it weren't for what you did for us, we'd have never stood a chance at all. We'd have failed even worse than we did.” Dean tightened his hand on Castiel's shoulder. “I'm sorry we asked this of you Cas. But I can promise you...we'll be here for you. We'll help you.”

“I don't know if you can.” Castiel closed his eyes. “I don't know if you should.”

Dean met his brother's eyes. “Sam...”

“Yeah.” Sam turned away, back to the nested blankets and haphazard food stock. He came back with three blankets, extra pillows and a bottle of water. Dean lifted Castiel, and the angel blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Making you more comfortable.” They'd done this for each other before, even for Castiel once or twice.

Sam piled the pillows up to form a comfortable mound to lean on, so Castiel could recline with the minimum of pressure on his back. Dean helped the angel turn around, and Sam helped him settle. Then Dean threw the blankets over him and opened the water. He dumped a little on a clean towel, then handed both to Castiel. “Here.”

Castiel drank part of the water, wiped his face gingerly. Then his head fell back against the pillows. Dean took the bottle from him and set it on Sam's low nightstand. “Better?”

“Physically? Yes. Otherwise...no.” Castiel's eyes were closed, but it didn't lessen the expression of torment on his face. “I...there aren't words...”

“I'm sorry.” Dean swallowed.

Castiel blinked. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to Fall for us. And then I failed to stop Lucifer from breaking free. I mean, you busted me out and died for me, and I still screwed up.” Dean grimaced.

“Yeah. Me too.” Sam was a quiet shadow near the foot of the bed.

“It doesn't matter. In the end, to Fall was my choice.” Castiel winced. “And I am...alone.”

“No. You aren't.” Dean took his hand. “You're not.”

“I am in this.” Castiel's voice was weary.

“Yeah. But we'll help you through it. If you wanna cry, we won't judge. You want to throw things, yell, get pissed and punch us...we're good for it. Just tell us what you need.”

The smallest of twisted, bitter smiles curved Castiel's mouth. “I already struck you.”

Dean remembered. He had planned to surrender to Michael to spare Adam. Castiel had caught him first. The beating the angel had given him had been one of the most brutal he'd ever taken, but looking back, he couldn't be angry. He'd assumed up until that point that Cas was at peace with his choice to break from Heaven and rebel. He'd never realized what it had cost the angel. That night, in the depths of Castiel's anger, he had seen it. As he had seen it the following day, when they had tried to rescue Adam and Castiel had been willing to commit what amounted to suicide, rather than watch him give up. It still made him a little queasy, remembering how he'd watched Castiel carve a banishing sigil into his own flesh with a box-cutter.

He still remembered Castiel's words, words that had haunted him since. _'I gave up everything, and this is what you give to me?'_ He'd often thought since then that Castiel had gotten the worst of the deal. Several times over.

He shook his head to clear the memory, and answered Castiel's smile with a small one of his own. “Yeah well, I'm good for round two.”

Castiel shook his head. “But I am not.” He paused. “I want to rest now.”

Dean nodded and let go of Castiel's hand. “Sure. We'll be nearby, you need anything.” Castiel didn't answer, asleep, unconscious or faking it. Dean rose and returned to his makeshift bed, Sam handed him a beer, and he did his best to get lost in cleaning the weapons he'd brought down to do maintenance on.

An hour later, Castiel woke up, made a small sound of distress, then rolled and threw up over the side of the bed.

Dean caught his shoulders and held him as he vomited and coughed. Sam disappeared, then reappeared with a large trash can, several towels, and a bottle of cleaner and deodorizer.

Dean helped Castiel back into bed and gave him some water while Sam cleaned up the mess. He waited until the angel emptied the water bottle, then spoke. “Mind telling us what that was?”

“Traveling through time on a depleted Grace...” Castiel's voice was hoarse. “It's a bit like liquefying and coughing up your own entrails.” He coughed. “Especially with passengers.” Sam passed over a Sprite.

“Jeez, Cas...” Dean sighed. “You said it would weaken you...not magically disembowel you! Why didn't you tell us?”

Castiel shook his head. “I had...already realized...the two of you would do...anything, for family. I didn't think it would change your minds if I did tell you.”

“Yeah well...we might have at least thought twice.” Dean grimaced.

“At least you were kind enough to care for me in my incapacitation.” Castiel sighed and relaxed into the pillows with a wince.

“Well, we sort of owed you one. Or several.” Dean sighed again. “You need anything?”

Castiel stilled, then spoke hesitantly. “Hangovers...they feel like that?”

“A little bit, yeah. At least they do for Sam, I've never felt like that. But I have a pretty strong alcohol tolerance.” Dean shrugged.

“Banishing myself felt like that too.”

“I bet.” Dean winced at the memory of Castiel's desperation.

“So did encountering Pestilence.”

“Yeah. No kidding.” Dean still got phantom stomach cramps at the memory of that encounter, and Sam winced and turned slightly greenish.

“So did swallowing and regurgitating the Leviathans. And losing my Grace to Metatron.” Castiel was pale, and Dean saw a fine tremor running through his hands.

“I can imagine.”

“I hope not.” Castiel turned his head to look at the items Sam had brought in. “I also hope you don't mind if I ask you to leave the bucket.”

“Not at all. That's what it's here for.” Dean reached out a foot and nudged it closer to the bed and twisted the cap off the Sprite. “Here. This'll settle your stomach.”

“You do not have to stay with me for this.” Castiel took the bottle. “If it's just these...nightmare memories...I'm sure I can manage well enough.”

Dean scowled. “Seriously, Cas, giving you the 'all for one' speech is getting old.”

“I know.” Castiel looked at the bottle in his hands, then back at Dean. “But you don't understand...the memories that are coming...” He stopped and looked away.

“They're bad. We know. We were there for a few of them.”

“It isn't that.” Castiel swallowed, then looked back at him. “Dean...I am...ashamed, of these things. Of the things I did. Of my weakness. Of my...recklessness. My pride. My arrogance. And some of these things are...disturbing. Perhaps Sam understands what it was like, to go mad...” His gaze flicked to Sam, standing a few feet away. “Perhaps you understand what Purgatory was like. But these things...what it was like to be drunk on the power of Purgatory, to be brainwashed by Naomi, to commit atrocities under her control...the helplessness when Metatron stole my Grace for the first time...when Malachai tortured me...”

“Hey, I totally get the last one. Been there. Done that.” He'd been tortured in Hell, as had Sam. He met his brother's understanding gaze for a moment, then returned his attention to Castiel.

“No. It's not the same. Malachai was once my brother. All the angels were.” Castiel shook his head sharply. “And even so...I don't want you to be forced to remember your pain, witnessing mine.” He met Dean's eyes, looked at Sam a moment, then returned his gaze to Dean. “I don't want you to see this. These...things...that I am ashamed of. You've seen enough of them.” His eyes hooded, hands tightening on the soda bottle. “If you could have seen your eyes...when I begged your forgiveness for breaking Sam's wall, when I...” he stopped and swallowed. “When I lost my memory, and you were telling me how you felt about what I had done to the two of you...”

“It's in the past.” Dean shook his head. “Over and done with.” He wasn't sure when he'd forgiven Cas. Perhaps when Castiel had taken Sam's madness from him, subjecting himself to the torment that had doomed his brother. Perhaps when he had heard Castiel's apology, given in his madness, seen him endure Hester's beating in silence. Or even in Purgatory, which Cas had regarded as penance for his sins. “Besides...we've all done things we're ashamed of.”

Castiel started to speak again. Dean slapped a hand to the angel's forehead, and Cas froze. “What are you...?”

“I thought so. You've got a hell of a fever. No wonder you're babbling all this crap.” Dean got up, dug in the first aid kit for the Tylenol bottle, shook out two pills and handed them to Castiel. “Take those, drink your Sprite, and go to sleep. We can talk all this junk over when you feel better.”

“Dean...I...”

“Take your meds before I shove them down your throat. I swear to God, you sound as delirious as Sam did when he was getting hallucinations. Or during the Trials.” Dean huffed. Sam twitched a small smile, but his eyes were shadowed.

Castiel hesitated, then took the pills, swallowing them with a third of the bottle. “Fine. Dean...”

“Shut up and give those time to work. Shouldn't take more than half an hour.” Dean picked up the discarded water bottle. “Once you've cooled off, and I mean that absolutely literally, then we can talk. Until then...just settle down. And drink your damn Sprite.”

Cas took another swallow of Sprite. “Dean...”

“Uh-uh. No talking. Not for at least fifteen minutes. You want to beat yourself up after that, we'll argue it out.” Castiel looked rebellious and Dean pointed at the clock on the wall nearby. “Fifteen minutes.” Castiel subsided, eyes on the clock.

Fifteen minutes later, the angel was asleep. Dean smirked. “Gave him the sleepy version. No history of taking meds and an empty stomach...surest bet I ever made.”

“Yeah, great.” Sam's eyes were worried. “What if we need him to wake up? Like, if he starts throwing up again or something?”

“We can get him to the 'groggy and not really here' stage, I'm sure.” Dean grimaced. “Anything's better than listening him trying to convince us to shove him through the door. Or threatening us with more chick-flick dramatic episodes.”

“This isn't just a touchy situation here, Dean. Castiel is...suffering unimaginably.” Sam's hand stabbed toward the bed.

“I know.” Dean sighed and met his brother's gaze. “But do you think having him constantly question our being here is gonna help with that? Really? You think, him beating himself up over us, is gonna make this crap any easier for him?” He sighed again. “Put it another way, which do you think would be easier for one of us? I mean...we're both pretty contained, but Cas takes stoic to a whole new level.”

Sam blinked, looked at the figure huddled in the bed. “You know he's gonna be embarrassed anyway. And pissed. Really pissed.”

Dean grinned. “I can handle pissed. Especially now he's human again, and can't toss me through the air with a single glare.”

Sam sighed, then gave up and flopped to the ground with a shrug of his shoulders. “Fine. Your call. But if he wakes up hacked off, I am totally throwing you under the bus dude. It's all on you.”

“Deal. All on me.” A moan drew their attention back to the bed as Castiel's head moved restlessly. “Looks like we're back on.” Sam nodded and stood up again, and the two of them moved to flank Castiel's bed.

The next few hours were agonizing. Castiel was much more uninhibited under the influence of medication, and in his dreams. And the words that spilled from his lips as he stumbled through his memories were nothing short of heart-breaking.

They'd known that he had grieved, hearing that God intended to abandon the conflict. After all, he'd gotten drunk. Sober, sane, stable Castiel, who had needed to be dragged to a bar by his collar when faced with his last night on earth, when facing the archangel who had killed him the first time, had gotten totally, horrendously plastered. But knowing he'd gotten smashed was nothing like knowing the desolation of his thoughts.

His grief at being abandoned by the one figure he had still believed in. He had abandoned Heaven for God's sake as much as Dean's, and his anguished words, twisting between furious anger and tortured grief...he hit Dean in the face in one of his descents into fury, and Dean did nothing but wipe the blood from his split lip, watching Castiel in compassion.

It was Sam who voiced what they were both thinking. “It's like us and Dad, isn't it?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. But at least we always knew Dad could up and leave us high and dry at any moment. We grew up with the idea of being screwed over. He didn't. He grew up, lived his life thinking his Dad was going to be there for him, if he really needed him.”

“Yeah. That sucks.” Sam swallowed hard. “I guess...that would make it worse.”

They held Castiel's semi-conscious body while the angel gagged and threw up in his memories of self-banishment ('drawing and activating a banishment symbol on oneself is...highly unpleasant') and of Pestilence ('Ow').

Dean held his shoulders and Sam his head as he convulsed in the wake of his second death, when Lucifer had blown him to pieces.

They tried not to listen as he mumbled over the civil war in Heaven. By the end of the first hour of that, they were both exchanging guilty glances and clenching fists.

Castiel had told them he was ashamed. He had told them he was dealing with a civil war, and pitted against the archangel who had killed him once. They had been too wrapped up in their own problems on earth, with demons and Sam's soullessness and the mother of all monsters, to listen to him. Not until the end, when they had realized he was aiming for Purgatory, with Crowley and against Raphael. And then they'd both been too furious to think straight.

He had told them that regretful things were required of him. More than killing his brother angels. Listening to his tormented dreams and visions, Dean cursed. “How did we not see this? How did we not realize it was this bad?” He cursed again. “Why didn't he tell us?”

Sam winced. “Because Bobby was right. He said that we could be the most self absorbed little bastards alive. And we were. I mean...how many times did he try to tell us that he was in mid-fight when we called? And we knew Raphael had wiped the floor with him before. We were so busy demanding Cas's help...we never realized he needed ours too.” His eyes were filled with regret as he watched Castiel toss and turn fitfully on the bed. “You know, it almost makes me wish he hadn't dragged me back, that Death hadn't finished saving me. I mean...the extra burden it placed on him...”

“Yeah. No shit. I'm sorry I gave him a hard time about not helping us out more.” Dean scrubbed at the back of his neck, then froze as Castiel's eyes opened, filled with drug and fever haze, and a tortured regret that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Castiel stared at him a moment, then whispered. “I'm sorry Dean. So, so sorry.”

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, took Castiel's shoulders in his hands. “You don't need to apologize to me. We're good.”

“No. We aren't.” Castiel's head bowed. “Dean...please...I...” His words slurred, but nothing could stop the pain in his face. “Please....brother....”

Dean froze. So did Sam. Then Dean pushed away from the bed, an anguish to mirror Castiel's filling his expression.

Sam spoke softly. “Dean? Wanna tell me something?”

Dean flinched, rubbed the back of his neck, then spun to face his brother. He stared at Sam a moment, then looked away. “After we found out about Cas and Crowley partnering up...I talked to Cas a couple of times. I told you about the first time. He wanted me to help him, or at least not fight him.” He bit his lip, then continued. “I told him not to do what he was doing. He said he had to, but I didn't listen. I was just so mad at him. But I...”

He shook his head. Castiel moaned again, grief on his face, and Dean's jaw clenched. “I told him that he should listen to me, because we were like family, like brothers. And he...he asked me...he friggin' practically begged me, to trust him, to be his brother and stand beside him, just once. He told me he loved me like a brother, that he'd do anything and everything I ever asked of him, and asked me to trust him just once. And I threw it all right back in his face.”

Sam nodded. “I know. I did too. He raised me from Hell, even if he didn't manage the whole thing.” He swallowed. “You know, I still remember his face when I accused him of doing it on purpose? It was like I knifed him. And, you know, Dean, we could both tell him he was wrong and it was stupid and all, and maybe it was, but wouldn't either of us do the same thing if we thought we had no choice? When you really think about it, how is this much different from you making a Crossroads deal, or me saying yes to Lucifer? Or drinking demon blood? Saying it was stupid and wrong isn't the same as giving him an alternative to go with.”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean watched Castiel a moment, then spoke softly. “You know what the worst of it is? Even after I gave him crap and told him to kiss my ass, he still saved me when a demon tried to kill me. He still came to the hospital and saved Lisa, helped me make them forget so they could have a normal life.” He shook his head again. “And when he was dying, because the Leviathans were ripping him to shreds from the inside out? The most important thing on his mind was asking me to forgive him.” A soft, bitter laugh escaped him. “Last thing he said before the Leviathans destroyed his mind, besides run, was that he was sorry, that he was ashamed of what he had done. That he wanted to redeem himself with me.”

Castiel's head tossed, one hand clenching into a fist in his delirium. “Dean...I...” A choked groan. “God...please...tell me...”

The anguished prayer hit both of them. Dean moved to the bedside, and took Castiel's shoulders. “It's okay Cas.”

Castiel's eyes opened. “It isn't. You hate me for this...I can never...” He closed his eyes, anguish and shame in his face, so deep it was despair. “What I did to Sam...to the wall that protected him....I can't ask you to forgive me for that....”

“No. It's okay.” Dean's hands tightened on Castiel's shoulders. “You listen to me, and you listen good. What you did was stupid, reckless, and totally unnecessary.” He shook the angel slightly, and Cas moaned. “But dammit Cas, as pissed as I am, and sometimes I am still really, really pissed...” He sighed. “The fact that you fucking screwed up big time does not change the fact that I care about you. Any more than drinking demon blood and being soulless and all that shit stopped me from caring about Sam. Or being a ghost stopped me caring about Bobby.” he grimaced. “Hell, everyone's allowed a couple huge, epic-level screw-ups. You wouldn't be an honorary Winchester if you hadn't threatened to destroy all creation at least once.”

“Yeah. And I'm good. All patched up, thanks to you.” Sam's words seemed to ease the angel's pain a little.

Dean sighed, then pulled the angel into a rough embrace. Sam settled on the other side of the bed and laid one hand tentatively in the middle of Castiel's back.

There was a long moment of silence. Then Castiel lifted trembling hands, laid them on Dean's arms. A muffled, exhausted 'thank you', escaped the folds of his cotton shirt. Then Castiel went limp again, sliding back into the fog of oblivion.

Dean laid him back on the bed. Castiel's face was pale. A single, shining tear track traced over his cheek. Dean wiped it gently away and started to stand.

Sam caught his hand. “We should probably stay put. The Leviathans....” He was interrupted by a choking gasp from Castiel as the angel went rigid.

The hour that followed that was awful. Both of them had seen some of the effects of Castiel's attempt to control the souls of Purgatory. And they'd seen him go 'god-complex' on them. But seeing the results was much different than dealing with Castiel's memories and reliving of the struggle itself. And Sam hadn't heard Castiel's anguished, remorseful apologies to them. They held Castiel down as he convulsed, both brothers white-faced at his hoarse, muttered apologies and groans. Dean held the tortured angel close, muttering reassurances as Castiel apologized again and again to everyone. Names of angels he had smote. Grief for the humans he had destroyed. And his grief for them. Grief and guilt filled his words, a torment neither of them had truly realized the depth of, despite how far he'd been willing to go to atone.

Finally, Castiel collapsed again. Dean heaved a sigh and stepped back from the bed. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed. “Dean...we'd better brace ourselves.” Dean blinked at his brother. Sam looked back at him, expression worried. “The next bad thing for him was taking my hell memories, right?”

“Yeah. He was a faith healing amnesiac between the two. Good life, he said.” Dean picked up a bottle of beer and drained it in a long swallow.

“Yeah, well, those hallucinations are definitely not good, Dean. Hellfire, Lucifer taunting you in your brain, talking to you constantly, torture...Lucifer and Michael together are very, very creative about that...” Sam shuddered. “I mean, I know he recovered his mind and all, and he kind of got over it somehow, but this stuff...nightmare central man.” he grimaced. “Lucifer alone was nasty. But he told me that after he shook that, he was just...looking at all his mistakes and stuff.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Dean sighed. “Crap.” He looked at the form lying curled among the pillows. “Think we need to restrain him?”

“No. I'm just saying, when he hits that...it's going to be bad. Maybe worse than the Leviathans.” Sam swallowed hard.

“We'll deal. Although, you want to sit this one out, I wouldn't blame you.”

Sam shook his head. “Actually, I was going to suggest the same thing for you.”

“Not a chance. I said I wouldn't abandon him, and I ain't breakin' that promise.” Dean threw his brother a beer, popped another one for himself.

A half hour later, Castiel moaned. “No...” Sam and Dean shared a look, then moved to opposite sides of the bed, flanking the angel as he stiffened, horror in his face.

The next few hours that passed were excruciating. Castiel writhed, moaned, screamed. Anguished pleas and begging were intermingled with howls of torment and desperate rationalization. Mumbled apologies mixed with tortured sobs. Sometimes he would cling to one of them, hands clutching hard enough to bruise. Sometimes any contact would make him jerk away violently, gasping in terror and flailing against the pillows. There was no lucidity in the blue eyes when they opened, no sanity. His dark hair was plastered to his face with sweat, the bandages soaked, but any touch against his wounds set off another round of screaming, or trembling horror that was worse than any words.

Dean took one of the moments of quiet to get a drink and wipe his brow. “I don't remember it being this bad for you, Sammy.” He sighed. “Come to think of it, he didn't look this bad when we left him in the institution.”

“It's different, when you're awake. When you can try to convince yourself that it's not real. When you can hide, pull away from it, try to focus on something else.” Sam's voice was quiet, and his eyes were haunted. “But it wears you out, trying. And then...it gets worse. When we left him, Castiel was still fighting. I think.”

“How did he ever survive this?” Dean grimaced as Castiel flinched and made a soft sound of pain. “How did you?”

“You...you surrender, I guess. I mean, it doesn't stop, but you just...let go. Remember how Castiel didn't want to fight, after he got out of the institution?” Sam looked up, then back down at the wounded figure. “After a while, you just learn to...live with it. Plus...Lucifer didn't have the link to Castiel that he had to me. I was Lucifer's vessel. Cas wasn't. He said Lucifer faded after a while. Maybe it helped a little.”

“Yeah. And maybe he's just a stronger little bastard than we ever gave him credit for.” Dean tossed Sam a drink and finished his own, hand clenching around the bottle as Castiel flinched and coughed, then groaned something unintelligible, his voice shredded and nearly gone.

“Yeah. That's probably it.”

Gradually, Castiel's breathing evened out. The periods of torment became fewer and farther between. He calmed enough for them to change his bandages and wipe the sweat and tears from his brow. Dean eased him into a loose shirt while Sam took away the dirty cloths and brought back food, then stretched. The clock read 5. “Damn. Is that morning or evening?”

Sam flicked his phone on and checked it. “Morning. We've been with him a whole day, Dean.”

“Explains why I just wanna sleep for a year.” Dean yawned. “Damn it...and we still got...what?”

“Purgatory, control by Naomi and Metatron, losing his Grace and being tortured. I think.”

“Crap. We were in Purgatory a year, he was controlled for months...at least the rest of them were quick.” Dean scowled. “I think.”

Sam exhaled, a short, sharp breath. “You wanna take a break, you can. Your room's right down the hall. Take a rest for an hour or so.”

“And leave you with it? Like hell.” Dean grabbed a snack pack out of the cooler and opened it, chomping down the contents without caring. “Nah. I'm good. We've done long hunts before. I'll stick it out.” he gestured. “You can use my bed, you wanna take some shut eye.”

“No. I'm good.” Sam swallowed, but took a bite of the food he'd brought down. “It's just...this...” He shook his head. “If he wakes up...if he comes out of this...how is he not gonna hate us for this? None of this would have happened to him if he hadn't decided to help us.”

Dean swallowed the last bite of food, then crumpled the bag and threw it into the trash can. His expression was somber. “We'll just have to ask him that when he comes out of it.”

“Ask me what?” Dean turned around. Castiel was blinking, his expression screwed up with pain and weariness.

“How you're feeling. You've been out a while.” Dean grabbed a bottle and moved to the bedside.

“I feel like I have been ripped in two and put back together. Multiple times.” Dean winced at the imagery. Castiel blinked at the bottle, another Sprite, then back at him. “You drugged me.”

Dean grimaced and offered Castiel a sheepish grin. “Didn't think it'd hit you that hard.”

Castiel sighed. “I don't think I want any more medication.”

“Okay. Sure.” Dean handed him the bottle. Castiel drank a few swallows, then handed it back. “Want anything else?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head, rolling it against the pillows.

“Okay.” Dean settled by the edge of the bed. “How you doing?”

“Well enough, for the moment. It was...peaceful, being insane. What I remember of it.” Castiel sighed. “How bad was it?”

Dean shrugged. “Nothing we couldn't handle.”

“Yeah. We're okay.” Sam pulled up a seat on the other side of the bed.

Castiel's eyes flicked over both of them, and he frowned. “You've been injured.”

Dean blinked, remembering his split lip for the first time in hours. He forced a smile. “Leg went to sleep. Stood up, wobbled straight into a bed-post. It's nothing serious.”

Castiel sighed again. “I don't believe you.” He shook his head again. “Never mind.” He took a deep breath. “Since I'm relatively lucid, for the moment, we should talk.”

“Sure. Go ahead.” Dean leaned forward. “What's on your mind?”

“Purgatory. It was...relatively painless. Stressful, trying not to get eaten by monsters, and difficult, being hunted by Leviathans, but painless. And simple. However...after Purgatory...”

“Brainwashed by that angel chick, Naomi. Yeah. We know.” Dean nodded.

Castiel's eyes were haunted. “That...that was _not_ painless. Naomi was...” He stopped, then shook his head. “I can't explain it, and I don't want to. It was...like possession, in some ways. In some ways, it was worse.” His hands clenched. “She...did things to me. Things I do not clearly understand, but I remember them. And...you know some of what she forced me to do.”

“Some of it, yeah.” Sam's voice was quiet.

Castiel was silent for a moment. “I killed Samandriel on her orders. I lied to you. He never attacked me.”

“We figured.” Dean laced his fingers together. “The way you were acting, the way your eye started bleeding...we figured it was something like that. Just couldn't figure out how.”

Sam spoke hesitantly. “When we were...trying to get to Samandriel...it wasn't the sigils that made you freak out, was it? It was something Naomi did to you?”

“Yes. She...” Castiel's jaw clenched, then relaxed. “Samandriel's screams were remarkably like my own, when she was working to break my will.”

“Crap.” Dean stood in a restless movement, rubbed his face, then paced a short circuit around his chair and sat back down. “Look, you don't have to tell us what she did to you.” They would probably know more than they wanted to when Castiel began to relive it. “But if there's anything we can do to help you with this, anything at all....”

“There is...one thing.” Castiel closed his eyes. “But it will most likely be...uncomfortable for you.” A small tremor ran through his body. Dean wondered if it was the memories he was experiencing, or the ones he feared would come.

“Tell us.” Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Whatever you need, Cas, we're here for you.”

Castiel lay quiet for a long moment, then slowly, his hands uncurled from the sheets, turned palm upward. “Take my hand.”

Sam curled his hand around Castiel's. Dean did the same. He was startled when Castiel shifted his grip, so his hand was wrapped around the angel's bandaged wrist. “Cas?”

“She wanted me to kill you. You and Sam, but you especially.” Castiel opened his eyes and turned his head to look up at Dean. “She wanted me to...the day we retrieved the angel tablet, she tried to force me. She had made me kill a thousand illusions of you.”

Dean held still. Castiel looked at the ceiling. “I remember, holding your wrist and snapping it out of place. I remember hitting you. I couldn't stop. But she couldn't make me kill you.” His gaze returned to Dean's. “When you looked at me and called me family, when you begged me to stop, when you said you needed me...I couldn't. You asked me what broke her control. You did. When you reminded me that I called you family. Brother.”

Dean swallowed hard. Sam settled into stillness on the other side of the bed, a silent watcher.

Castiel watched him, waiting for his answer. Dean swallowed again, then tightened his grasp and felt Castiel return it. “If that helps...when the memories come, I'll be right here. And I'll keep telling you. As many times as you need.”

“This sentiment...it makes you uncomfortable.” Castiel's voice was quiet, almost shamed.

“Normally, yeah. But hey, there are exceptions to everything.” He shrugged. “And hey, maybe this...maybe this is what makes up for the times I let you go, huh?”

Castiel blinked. “Dean...”

“I know. You've said it all before. That you get it. That you understood. But the bottom line is, when I need you, or want you to do something for me, I say you're family. And too many damn times, when you've needed me to have your back, I've let you go. That's not right.” Dean shook his head. “It ain't right, and it isn't what family is, man. So...you let me help you through this, like a good brother is supposed to do. You got it?”

Castiel stared at him for a long moment. “Yes.” His hand clasped around Dean's wrist. “Thank you.” He laid his head back, and his eyes closed. “I feel...exhausted.”

“Yeah. Traumatic flashback will do that to you.” Dean squeezed his hand. “You just chill, okay? Relax as much as you can.” Castiel didn't answer, but his shoulders relaxed and his breathing deepened and evened out.

Sam stood up and moved the supplies closer, then took hold of Castiel's hand again. “Looks like we might be here a while.”

“Yeah. But it's creepy, you know? I thought Purgatory was bad, and he thinks it was practically a cake-walk.” Dean shook his head. “Dammit, if that angel bitch was still alive, I would waste her.”

“Yeah. Me too. I'd probably race you to take her head.” Sam grimaced. “God knows what she did to him, to make him break. I mean...” He looked at Castiel, then shook his head. “He's so strong.”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean sighed, then shifted to get more comfortable in his chair.

They passed the hours in quiet, taking turns dozing. Dean was drifting in a haze of half-asleep awareness when Castiel's hand clenched suddenly on his. “Dean.”

He jerked awake, looking into the angel's face. Castiel's eyes were closed, his expression pained. “Dean.”

“Dean?” Sam was awake, his eyes questioning.

“I think this was where we parted in Purgatory. Which means the next stop is Hell 2.0 for him.” His gut clenched.

“Yeah. Okay.” Sam nodded.

Dean bit his lip, then swore. “Damn it, if I hadn't left him there...”

“Yeah. He might have been okay. But Cas is good at ducking monsters, and he told you he wanted to stay, for penance or whatever. And you had no way of knowing that his own people were gonna grab him and hurt him like this.” Sam reached his free hand across and gave his brother a shake. “Hey. Snap out of it. Cas needs you here and now, not off regretting something he told you wasn't your fault a long time ago. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. You're right.” Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. “Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, Castiel went rigid, back arching against the sheets as he cried out. “No. No, please...don't. Don't!” The words degenerated into a howl of agony. Castiel thrashed, fighting them, then went limp, curling into a ball amidst the sheets. “Please. No...”

“Dammit.” Dean bit his lip. “What the fuck did she do to him?”

“Who knows. But I'll bet there was a reason his eye was bleeding. Usually Cas gets nosebleeds, doesn't he? When he's not feeling 100 percent?”

Dean swore again. “What the hell? And angels think we're barbarians, I swear.” He shook his head, then settled down on the edge of the bed. “Cas, listen up. It's okay. It's okay. You're safe now. Okay? You're safe.”

Castiel trembled, then subsided. “Please...no. Don't ask me this.” The words were a defeated, exhausted plea, barely audible. “Please...”

And he wept.

Dean sat beside his friend and brushed away the tangled hair that clung to Castiel's face, holding the angel's bandaged hand in his own. He met Sam's eyes, the two of them united in their sorrow for the angel they considered family, the angel they loved like a brother. Then, by mutual consent, they both settled on opposite sides of the huddled form. It was a tight fit, but Sam's bed was wide, and they managed.

Morning passed into afternoon. Dean passed Sam drinks and snacks when asked, got his own. It was awkward, one-handed, but he wasn't about to let go of Castiel's hand. Together, he and Sam held the angel during his fits of hysterical, tortured thrashing and shuddering pleas, then comforted him afterward.

It was 2 in the afternoon when Castiel blinked open weary eyes and stared up at Dean. He blinked slowly, then freed his hand from Sam's, reached out and touched Dean's face. “I'm sorry Dean.”

Dean nodded, remembering how Castiel had touched him like that before. One moment he'd been beating him bloody, poised to stab him. The next, he'd dropped his sword, picked up the tablet, then reached out and touched his face, healing his wounds.

He'd actually flinched when Castiel reached out for him then, and he still regretted it. This time, he took Castiel's arm in a gentle, careful grip. “I know. We're good Cas.” Castiel sighed, then his eyes closed as he fell back into unconsciousness.

Dean inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled. “Damn, I hope Malachai and April were traditionalists.” He looked at his brother. “He can't take much more of this crap Sam. This torture...and we've still got to get him through losing his Grace, getting tortured twice, all that...what the hell?”

“We do the best we can. Like we've always done.” Sam sighed.

“Yeah. I guess. But I'm gonna have nightmares about this for a while.” Dean settled back against the bed. “Damn it...I should feel so awkward about this.” He grimaced. “I don't really do this touchy-feely stuff that well.” He looked at where his brother perched on the edge of the bed. “Neither do you.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam shrugged. “Like you said, there's exceptions.” He reached over, took a beer, and settled back into place.

Castiel remained mostly quiet as afternoon faded into evening, then night. He groaned every now and then, and mumbled things that his destroyed voice made mostly unintelligible. Then around 5, his eyes abruptly opened. He gasped, then rolled. Dean got the bucket under his head just in time.

Castiel retched, vomited the remains of the Sprite he'd drunk, then coughed and collapsed back into the bed, curled up with his arms wrapped around his abdomen.

“Yikes.” Sam disappeared and returned with a newly damped cloth. Together, they coaxed Castiel to lean back against the pillows, and Dean wiped his face. “That looked awful.”

Castiel coughed again. “Crowley's angel bullet. That was...unpleasant. And he ripped the tablet out of me with his bare hands. Which was also unpleasant.”

“That was when you crash-landed in the road in front of my car, right?”

“It was.” Castiel breathed in, a deep, slow, cautious breath. His eyes flickered to the mess in the bucket. “I'm...sorry.”

“No worries. That's what it's there for.” Dean set the can to the side.

“I should have trusted you.” Castiel closed his eyes. “I...regret that.”

“Yeah, well...bitch angel screwing with your head would make anyone paranoid. Personally, now that I think about it, I think Sammy was right. I should have gone easier on you. Those were rough days man, for all of us. And me being a dick didn't make 'em any easier. So...how about I forgive you for being a paranoid twitchy moron, and you can forgive me for being a douche, and we'll call it even.” He smiled at the angel.

Castiel opened his eyes, met his gaze, then nodded. “Of course.” His eyes closed again, unconsciousness claiming him as swiftly as it had released him.

An hour later he went through a small convulsion that Dean guessed was the loss of his Grace. They held him through it, then settled him against the pillows once more.

Dean watched him sleep, then sighed. “Dammit. What the hell does it say about what's happened to him, that he just basically slept through the memory of getting his essence ripped out of him the first time?”

“A lot, unfortunately. But maybe...I guess it could be because he's gone low power before?” Sam blinked uncertainly. “I mean, he was practically human in the final Micheal-Lucifer confrontation. Maybe it's something that isn't quite as bad after the first time?”

“I doubt it. But who the hell knows?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, we know he was working with Metatron, and Metatron sent him back to earth before he started the Fall. Maybe he did something that made it easier.”

“Maybe.” Dean shook his head. “I just don't like the thought that Cas has been hurt so bad that something like that wouldn't bother him.”

Sam winced. “Yeah. Me neither.” He snapped open a bag of beef jerky, ate two pieces, then sealed it back up. “How bad do you think the whole torture thing will be?”

“No idea. I mean, he was kind of messed up when we found him the first time, but I never saw how bad he looked the second time, so...who knows? I'm more worried about the part where he died again.”

“Yeah, well, nothing we can do about it.” Sam sighed. “I'm gonna hit the head. Stay with him?”

“Yeah. And then it's my turn.”

Sam came back with damp hair and a damp face, noticeably more alert. Dean took the opportunity to scrub water over his own face before rejoining his brother at Castiel's side. “Think it's a bad thing that he didn't wake up again for that?”

“No. I think he's just exhausted.” Sam shook the wet strands out of his eyes. “All this...dude, I know what my hell memories were like, and that alone would wear anyone out.”

“I hope you're right.” Dean let himself pace the room a moment, just to get the restless feeling out of his system a little, then settled back in. Remembering how he had thrown Castiel out of the Bunker, he sat forward, hands resting on the bed near Castiel's. “It's okay Cas. We're here for you.”

Several hours later they were both brought out of a light sleep by a whimper, which changed into a groan, and a single muttered word. “Muriel.” Then Castiel flinched, cried out. Seconds later his hands clenched into fists. “No...don't...no...don't you dare….Malachai...No!” Blue eyes shot open as Castiel practically lunged forward. Dean caught him before he could tip over the side of the bed.

“Easy there buddy. Easy. That looked pretty bad.” He eased the angel back down.

“It was.” Castiel sighed, then fell back. There was pain and regret in his face.

Dean handed him the Sprite, and he drank. “So...Malachai...I can guess what that was. Do you want to tell us who Muriel is?”

“No.” Castiel shut his eyes, then opened them again. He exhaled, a short sharp breath, and relaxed a little. His hand clenched into the sheets again. “She was...she found me. But she wasn't like the others. She didn't want to hurt me. She didn't blame me. She trusted me. She wanted to help me.” He closed his eyes and turned his face, pressing it into the pillow as though he were trying to hide his expression. “Malachai found us both. Captured us both. Tortured us both. He killed her trying to force information from me. Information I didn't have.” His jaw clenched, expression tight with anguish. “She didn't deserve to die. She didn't need to die. I couldn't tell them what they wanted to know. I told him that. I told him that I wouldn't have protected the information at the cost of her life.”

“Yeah, well, some people are sadistic bastards. It's not your fault.” Dean looked at his hands.

“She wouldn't have been killed if she hadn't helped me.” regret sharpened Castiel's words to a knife edge.

“Yeah and?” Dean shook his head, then clasped one hand around Castiel's nearer one. “Do you know how many times over the past hours I've sat here thinking that you wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me? Me and Sam?”

Castiel opened his eyes, turned his head up to look at him. “Dean...this is not your fault. I chose this...”

“Yeah. And this Muriel chick chose to help you. So...if you don't blame me, you can't blame yourself. Deal?” He knew it wasn't that easy, but he had to try. Seeing Castiel so broken…

Castiel shook his head. “It's not that simple. None of this is.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Welcome to the human race.” Dean shook his head. “Look, we all have things we regret, okay?”

Castiel didn't answer. After a moment, Sam spoke softly. “Cas...I hate to ask, but is there anything else...anything you think we need to know about?”

Castiel sighed again, then rolled onto his back with a wince. “I was captured by Metatron. But he didn't do anything to me, aside from hold me prisoner.” He frowned, then shook his head. “There's nothing I can recall that was...worse.”

“Right. You sleep then.” Dean settled back in his chair and set a hand on the bed, near enough that Castiel could take it if he wanted to, or leave it if he wanted to.

“It seems I must.” Castiel's eyes closed again.

The rest of the night passed in relative quiet. Every so often, Castiel would shift, muttering in delirious fevered dreams. Sometime around midnight, Sam went and got a cold cloth to put over his forehead. It seemed to help a little.

The new day came, at least by Sam's clock, and Castiel subsided into silence, his face pale and still. Dean touched the fevered cheek, then took his pulse. “Awful slow. Think he'll be okay?”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know. Actually...I've kind of had a bad thought, this last hour or so.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Losing his Grace again, having his wings ripped from him, being stripped of everything that made him an angel...that's like dying, right? In an incredibly horrible manner?”

“Yeah. Probably. What's your point?”

Sam looked at Castiel, then at Dean, his eyes wide and concerned. “If he's reliving everything he went through as an angel from a human perspective...what if he relives what Metatron did to him? Do you really think he could survive that?”

“What are you saying? You think it's gonna...kill him?” Dean sat upright from where he'd slouched into the chair.

“I think he must have been in unimaginable pain. Like, 'cause a heart attack it hurts so bad' kind of pain. Or a stroke. I mean, look at how he's reacted to everything else.” Sam slashed a hand through the air, indicating Castiel's tortured, sweat-soaked body. “Convulsions, screaming, panic attacks...yeah, Dean, I think if he goes through angel death in human form, it could kill him.”

“Shit.” Dean jerked himself upward, out of his chair. “What do we do? Hospital?”

“Yeah, and tell them what exactly? I'm sorry, my angel buddy got turned into a human and is dying of shock?” Sam bit his lip. “Dean, we don't know what this is going to do to him...”

On the bed, Castiel went suddenly tense. His face went salt-white, and his hands, lying loose on the blankets, clenched into fists. Then his back arched, and he screamed.

“Shit! Sam, help me hold him!” Dean lunged at the bed as Castiel screamed again, convulsing like a man stepping on a live wire. “Cas! Cas! Come on buddy...snap out of it.”

Castiel howled again, hands outflung so that he looked like a man being crucified. The brothers watched in horror as he writhed.

Then he froze. Silence descended. And a calm, quiet voice spoke from behind Dean. “It is finished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Cliffhanger.


	3. Chapter 3: Every Choice Under Heaven

Dean spun around and Sam looked up.

An older man stood there, his face calm and peaceful. “Dean. Sam.”

Dean blinked. “Who are you?”

Sam stepped around the bed. “I..know you.” He shifted, head cocking to the side, then straightened. “The garden. When we died and went to Heaven. You were the gardener who told us God wasn't going to interfere. You're...”

“Joshua. Yes. I am.”

Dean studied him. “How the hell did you get in here? This place is supposed to be angel-warded to 'invitation only' standards.”

Joshua smiled. “I had help. From my boss.”

“You mean God.” Dean swallowed.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Sam swallowed too, then took a cautious step forward. “So...why did God send you here? I thought he wasn't interested in anything happening on Earth any more.”

“Not entirely true. But...to everything a purpose under heaven, and a time and place. Even God himself.” Joshua smiled again, then dipped his head to indicate the bed. “I'm here for Castiel.”

“What? Like...as in here for him, like a Reaper?”

Joshua actually laughed. “No. Nothing like that. I'm here to tell him that his task is done.”

Dean blinked. “Task? What task?”

Joshua shook his head. “Perhaps explanations should wait until after I've revived Castiel. That should make things easier.”

Dean looked backed at the frozen, agonized form of his friend. “You can stop this right, this pain he's going through?”

“Of course. That was my first intention.”

The brothers shared a look, then stepped back, clearing a path to the bed. Dean looked Joshua in the eyes. “Please.”

Joshua stepped forward and laid a hand on Castiel's forehead. Castiel's body went limp, then began to glow with a brilliant, white-gold light. Celestial light.

Dean and Sam both stepped back, watching as Castiel's body rose from the bed, glowing. The sweat and bandages vanished. The wounds healed. Across the bed and floor, the shadow of great outstretched wings grew from Castiel's shoulders, then flared and flapped. The pain left his face, replaced by peace. Then Castiel settled back into bed, the light sinking into his skin, fading until he looked as he always had. Joshua removed his hand from Castiel's forehead. “Wake, Castiel.”

Blue eyes snapped open, blinked, and the angel's brow furrowed in confusion. He sat up, looking at his wrists. “I don't understand. I was...” He looked at Sam and Dean, then at Joshua. “I...don't think I know you.”

“We haven't met in a very long time. I'm God's gardener. Among other things.” Joshua smiled warmly.

“Joshua. You talk to God. You told us God didn't care any more.” Castiel frowned. “Why are you here?”

“Because it was time.” Joshua reached out and pressed two fingers to Castiel's forehead. “Remember, Castiel.”

Castiel gasped, his eyes closing once more. He sat for a moment, breathing deeply. Then: “So...it's...it is over? Finally?”

“It is. It is done, Castiel.”

“Whoa whoa...what's done?” Dean stepped forward. “Cas?”

“The salvation of Heaven.” Castiel exhaled and opened his eyes again. He looked...tired, and relieved.

“The salvation of...okay, someone please explain that.” Dean sat on his chair. Sam sat on the bed. Joshua remained standing.

Castiel took another deep breath. “Angels serve in Heaven, but Lucifer proved that angels, like mortals, were born with the ability to choose. The problem was, Lucifer's choice, like the Biblical Adam's, was disobedience. And with him came the fall of angels, as Adam supposedly caused the ruin of mankind.” He shook his head. “Angels are God's servants, but with Lucifer's Fall, corruption entered Heaven. Hatred, greed, anger, pride...all the sins of humans were ours as well, cloaked in heavenly service. Worse, angels as a whole didn't understand the concept of free will. Therefore, they would do things that contradicted God's word, because it was 'heavenly mandate', brought about by those few with the power and understanding to manipulate the system. Like Raphael and Metatron. We experienced all the flaws of choice, and none of the understanding required to exercise it properly. I believe you've experienced the result for yourselves.” He grimaced.

“Okay. So...Lucifer's Fall paved the way for angels to become overbearing dickheads. Or freaking lemmings.” Dean looked at the two angels in the room and ducked his head in apology. “Some of them, anyway.”

“Yes.” Castiel sighed, frowned at his bare chest, and clicked his fingers. Seconds later, he was clothed in his usual garb. “And so God left Heaven, until such time as it could mended, as Earth was meant to be mended by the coming of Christ.”

“So...what you're saying is...God made plans for the angels to have a savior?” Sam stared, his gaze darting back and forth between Castiel and Joshua.

“Exactly.” Joshua smiled again. “God loved mankind. Lucifer's fall was a result of his jealousy. Someone had to be willing to fight to repair that mistake.”

“Okay. And Cas's part in this was...” Dean gestured.

“Castiel was the first angel in the history of creation who was willing to rebel, not out of anger, or hate, or self interest, but out of love. Love for you, love for humans as a race. He was the first to embrace free will as more than simply a rebellion, to try and change. He was willing to stop Destiny, to move Heaven, Earth and Hell for that one purpose. The moment he chose you over the plans of Heaven, his destiny was set in motion.”

“Castiel rebels because he considers us brothers...and that triggers the coming of the Angel Christ.”

“Yes and no.” Castiel was looking at his hands. “Do you recall, Dean, how I was resurrected, when the Apocalypse began, and when it ended?”

“Yeah. You said God brought you back, both times.” Dean blinked. “But the second time...that was after God said he wasn't planning to interfere.”

“Exactly. That should have told us, told me, something. But it didn't.”

“You weren't meant to know. You know why the foreknowledge would have been disastrous.”

Castiel nodded. “Because I wouldn't have been acting true to the purpose.”

“You're the savior.” Sam's voice was quiet, tinged with awe and with shock. “You...what you're saying is that when you rebelled against Heaven, for our sake, you somehow became the one chosen to become the redeemer of heaven.” He sat forward. “You said it yourself...you did what you did because we taught you about free will, and how to choose.”

“Yes. When Castiel died the first time, God gave him a choice. And he agreed to take up the task. But if he had known what his purpose was, he could only have acted to it, instead of doing what was truly needed.”

“What was truly needed?” Dean smiled, a quick twist of the lips that held no humor at all. “What the hell was that, huh?”

“To bridge the chasm between angels and the rest of creation. The chasm Lucifer created in his rebellion. Castiel was returned to Earth, and to Heaven, to bring the world back into balance. To stop those who would destroy the human race, and the world. To find a bridge between angels and demons.”

“Fight people like Raphael and Metatron. Do things like team up with Crowley. And fall in love with Meg.” Dean huffed in exasperation. “And the whole Purgatory thing?”

“A failing on my part.” Castiel's expression was ashamed. “Like my cursing of God. I...”

“You took the sins of Heaven and Earth onto your shoulders.” Joshua's voice was soothing.

“I failed in my faith.” Castiel's hands clenched. “I cursed God, and even dared to try and usurp his place. I was full of pride, arrogance.”

“But you did it to try and save the world, to end the fighting of Heaven and Earth. You did it for love, Castiel, and to teach your brethren. Of love, and choice. And the breaking of the strings of Fate. You did it to help them grow.” Joshua rose and laid a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

“I don't recall feeling that way.” Castiel shivered. “I was angry. I was arrogant. I was desperate.”

Joshua shook his head. “You don't understand. You were meant to take the sins of your kind, and to become the bridge between Heaven and Earth. How could you do so, unless you truly understood what it meant to fall, as well as to rise?”

Castiel turned to look at the older angel. “You're saying...that God understands...that I am forgiven for what I have done?”

“Of course.” Castiel looked away, and Joshua squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “If you doubt my word, then go ask for yourself.”

Castiel's bowed head shot up. “What?”

“Go ask for yourself.” Joshua smiled. “You were reborn as the Son of Heaven, Castiel. Do you truly think that after all this, you would be forbidden into the presence of God?” He lifted one hand, palm up in obvious invitation. “Only wish it, and you can see the Father whenever you like, as I do.” Joshua leaned forward to murmur into the startled angel's ear. “Just between us...he likes to wander in the garden.”

Castiel stared at him, then looked at Sam and Dean. “I'll...return in a moment.” Then he vanished.

“Wow. Talk about a bombshell.” Dean huffed. “So...everything since the beginning of the Apocalypse, that was all some grand plan to help Castiel fulfill his destiny of saving Heaven, and giving angels some sort of free will workshop.”

“Not everything. But much of it was the fulfillment of Castiel's purpose, yes.” Joshua must have seen something in Dean's face. “You mustn't blame him. He was prevented from knowing the truth. Everything he did had to be done with no prior influence other than his heart. Otherwise, he would have failed. The Restoration of Heaven would have failed.”

“Okay. Sure. Got it. Cas is off the hook.” Dean sat back. “Only...where do we fit in? Me and Sam, we got a lot of lucky breaks. We were with Cas a lot of the time.” He paused, then cocked his head. “Come to think of it...Death told me once that me and Sam were an affront to the natural order of things. Because we kept coming back. Kept affecting destiny.”

“You do.” Joshua resettled in his chair. “You were the hinges of the Apocalypse and the destiny of humankind. And when Castiel rebelled for your sake, you became the hinges for the destiny of Heaven as well. You were, and have always been, the focal point of Castiel's struggle, the reason for his choice, and all his actions on the road to fulfilling his purpose.”

There was a whoosh, and Castiel reappeared. He swayed, and Sam and Dean leaped forward to catch him. “Whoa there. You all right?”

“All right...that doesn't begin to...” Castiel blinked at Dean. “You have no idea what God is like. I had no idea….”

Joshua smiled. “The heavenly presence can be a bit overwhelming, the first time or two.”

Castiel nodded hazily. “Overwhelming...is a good choice of words.” He let Sam and Dean settle him on the edge of the bed and sat there, blinking and swaying like a man drunk.

Dean watched him for a moment, then turned back to Joshua. “So...what happens now? You said it was done.”

“It is. Castiel sacrificed himself, the greatest sacrifice an angel can make. He gave up his very essence to save you. It was the last great sacrifice required of him. To lose his place in Heaven, to give it up entirely with no chance of recall, at least not by any hand other than God's. To truly die to God's grace, as it were.”

“Okay. But that was three days ago.” Dean turned away, then whipped back around, pointing angrily at the bed. “He's been lying here, tortured by his memories, suffering a repeat of everything that was done to him, for the past three days! He's been in agony. And you could have stopped it. So why are you telling us this now?”

“And the third day, he shall rise.” Sam muttered the words, then looked at Joshua. “God's Son, his chosen vessel...died for three days, and then was resurrected, according to the New Testament. It's Biblical precedent.”

Joshua nodded. “On Earth, as it is in Heaven.”

Castiel raised his head. “And so, God returns to Heaven, and Heaven is restored. And I...”

“You have a choice. Return, to sit beside the throne, his second Son, or...”

“I want...” Castiel swallowed sharply. “The presence of the Father...it's indescribable. It's beautiful. It's...everything I expected, everything I hoped for.”

Dean rocked back on his heels. “I thought you were pissed that he wasn't here to help.”

“I was. But he explained it to me.” Castiel swallowed, then looked into Dean's face. “You can't let your children grow up, not completely, unless you let them go. Let them face the world on their own.” He shook his head. “If God had interfered, it would have negated my purpose to be here.”

“So...” Dean looked between the two angels. “It wasn't that God didn't care. It was that he was...what, letting you hunt solo?”

“A rough analogy. But yes, essentially.” Castiel looked down at his hands, then at the older angel. “I know where God is. I respect him. I understand why he did what he did, and I don't regret it. And I do want to return to Heaven. But I...I have brothers here too.” He looked at Sam and Dean, then away. “I would have failed without them. I...love them like family. I don't want to return to Heaven, if it means leaving them.”

Dean stared. “Can't you just ask God if you can get a day pass or something when we call?”

Castiel ducked his head. “I was too overwhelmed to remember to ask.”

“But you should already know the answer.” Joshua rose from his seat. “You are the bridge of God's creation, the Unifier of Heaven, Earth, and perhaps even Hell. You opened the doors of choice and destiny for all of God's children. No door shall ever be closed for you.”

“So Cas can come and visit, whenever.”

“Of course. He is forever marked as God's chosen.”

“He is?” Dean studied the familiar figure. The trench-coat, the backwards tie, neat white shirt and black suit. All the trademarks of the Castiel he knew.

“I am.” Castiel raised his head, then stood. “God...gave me something.”

Wings flared. Light sparked around his hands. And a thin band of golden fire wound itself across Castiel's forehead and temples.

“You've been crowned.” Sam's eyes were wide.

“I'll be damned. Seriously.” Dean's knees weakened, and he fell into his chair.

The light faded, and Castiel stood before them. He looked suddenly shy and self conscious. “Yes. I was crowned. And there's more. I received a promise.” He looked at both of them. “When the time comes...I will be allowed to take you.”

“You mean, when we die. You'll be allowed to take us to Heaven?”

“Yes.”

“But Dean still has the Mark of Cain. It's been pretty quiet, but still...”

“I can fix that.” Castiel took two steps forward and reached down to grasp Dean's arm. He laid one hand over the Mark. Light flashed.

Dean gasped. “Holy mother of...” Then Castiel let go, and Dean looked at his arm. His unmarked, unblemished arm. “Damn. Just like that?”

Castiel smiled. “Just like that.”

“Pretty sweet. Guess there are some perks to being a Heavenly VIP.” Dean flexed his arm, then looked at Cas, and at Joshua. “So...what happens now, exactly?”

Joshua smiled. “God has returned home. It's in a bit of disarray, so we have our work cut out for us. And there are some changes coming. Speaking of which, I do have a garden that needs tending.” he vanished.

Dean jerked back, then turned to Castiel. “Cas? What does he mean by changes?”

“Angels will have freer access to Earth. And also to God. The rest...I'm not sure of yet.” He smiled, slightly shy and slightly self-deprecating. “I haven't...quite absorbed everything yet. But things will be better. For everyone.”

“Better. Better is good.” Dean moved to get up, and Castiel stepped back to let him. “And...us?”

There was an edge of regret to Castiel's smile. “I'm needed in Heaven. God can manage, of course, but it works better if there's a wider structure in place. And that was my purpose.” He shuffled, then look Dean in the eyes. “But...I will always, always, come when you call to me. Whenever you need me, I will come to you. You have only to ask.”

Sam rose. “It seems pretty weird, calling on a prince of Heaven.”

Castiel laughed, a sound of pure merriment that they hadn't heard from him since he'd been insane. “You have called on me as an enforcer, a rebel, a commander and...everything else. Just think of it as one more change.”

“Meaning, like nothing's changed.” Dean grinned.

“Yes. Like that.” Castiel smiled.

“Okay. What if...what if we don't need you? What if...we just want to see our brother?” Dean shifted. “Like, to visit a bar and talk and discuss stuff? Or to look through funky old artifacts?”

“Call me. I'll answer.” Castiel's smile mellowed. He reached out, and placed a hand on each brother's shoulder. “For you, for both of you...I can always, will always, answer.”

“That's great.” Dean grinned. Then he leaned forward and wrapped Castiel in a crushing hug, surprised when the reserved angel returned it. “We'll make sure to call often then. And Cas...” He stepped back. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“I know. Thank you.” Castiel's eyes darted between both of them. “Thank you both. For everything.”

“Any time.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “And hey, tell your Dad we said hi.”

“I will.” And Castiel vanished.

Dean looked at his brother. “Well...I think I need some food. And a shower. And a beer.”

Sam was still staring at the place where Castiel had stood. “Yeah.”

An hour later, they were both clean. Sam had whipped up sandwiches and salad, and even some cookies out of a box. Dean had collected two beers each. They each pulled up a chair and settled in.

Dean reached for his sandwich, then paused, looking at it. “We got enough for a third?”

Sam blinked. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

Dean smirked. “Wanna invite our brother to dinner?”

Sam laughed, then stood. “I'll get an extra plate. Give me ten minutes.” He came back a few minutes later, another sandwich ready. “Hope he likes things other than burgers.”

“Yep.” Dean leaned back and closed his eyes. “Castiel.”

“I'm here.” Dean turned. Castiel was standing at the end of the table.

Dean grinned. “Hey. We were just about to have dinner. Thought we'd call, invite you over to eat with the family. Thought about asking your dad, but we don't know him as well.”

Castiel smiled. “My Father is busy. However, I'll tell him you extended the invitation.”

“Sure. You do that.” Dean kicked the chair out across from him. “Pull up a seat. Have a sandwich.”

“I will.” Castiel settled in, looked at the food. “It smells good.”

Dean popped open a bottle. “Got a beer for you too.”

“Thank you.” Castiel looked at the beer, then raised it. “A toast. To family.”

“To family, heavenly and otherwise.” Dean and Sam clanked their bottles to his, then tucked in.

None of them knew what would happen next, but for now, it was good to be alive. Good to be together, and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this several years ago, before recent seasons. I thought about changing it, but...I feel like the story is true for the time I wrote it, and I don't want to mess it up. So...here it is.


End file.
